Remembering La Grenouille, a Magnet for the Ladies Who Lunch

The closure of La Grenouille earlier this month represents the true finale to the era of the Ladies Who Lunch, when chic women clad in designer clothes would meet for lunch at New York restaurants that seemingly all began with “La” or “Le” to nibble their salads, gossip — and cattily eye what each of them was wearing.

La Grenouille was the last of a string of them — La Caravelle, La Cote Basque, La Seine, Le Pavillon, Le Cirque, Le Hermitage and Lutece — and it came to be considered one of the best French restaurants in America for its classic dishes.

Charles and Gisèle Masson opened Grenouille (forever called by its patrons “The Frog Pond”) in late 1962. He was in the kitchen and she was front of house, greeting guests and ushering them across the pillow-plush carpeting to one of the deep red velvet banquettes or round tables. Huge arrangements of flowers filled the room — they were one of Charles Masson’s passions. Small lamps illuminated each table; there were paintings and mirrors on the golden walls, and the dim lighting — even at lunch — flattered everyone.

Almost from its first day, Grenouille was intertwined with WWD and its late, fearsome, ever-inventive publisher John B. Fairchild. The restaurant became one of the Francophile Mr. Fairchild’s favorite spots, especially since he could enjoy a fine lunch and wine while keeping an eye on designers like Oscar de la Renta, Valentino, Yves Saint Laurent, Carolina Herrera or Bill Blass and the Ladies Who Lunch, such as Babe Paley, Nan Kempner, C.Z. Guest, Lee Radziwill, Slim Keith and, his biggest fixation, Jackie O.

There was a payphone in the back of the restaurant near the restrooms and, in those prehistoric days before the cellphone, if Fairchild spotted one of the Ladies, he would excuse himself from his lunch companion, go to the back and call the WWD photo studio to send a photographer up to Grenouille immediately to get a shot of one of them — or all of them — leaving.

The photo often would be the next day’s coveted WWD cover. In those days, these women exemplified style because they created it themselves — they did not rely on personal stylists, and they actually bought the clothes they wore. And they bought a lot.

One day, Radziwill was there dining and Fairchild called a photographer to come to the restaurant. As she was leaving, the photographer pointed his camera to take the shot, but she pleaded for him not to do so. “Please, for WWD?” he asked.

“Oh,” she responded. “In that case would you like me to go back in and come out again?”

The Massons became Fairchild’s friends, so much so that in the early days they asked him a huge favor. It seemed everyone reserving tables was requesting those in the back of the long room — no one wanted to sit up front, giving the impression to passersby looking in the windows that the restaurant was empty.

Would Fairchild mind moving to a table in the front to spur others to do so, they asked? He did — preferring a table in the corner to the right as one entered so he could keep an eye on the entire room. Everyone else followed.

Charles Masson died in 1975 at age 60 and his wife took over running the restaurant, doing so until the late ’90s when their youngest son, Charles, assumed the responsibility. Everything — from the crisp white linens to the service — was held to his parents’ high standards, and he continued his father’s passion for extravagant floral arrangements, even writing several books on the subject. Grenouille remained one of the fashion world’s favorite spots well into the 2000s, even though the restaurant firmly adhered to a policy of no cellphone conversations at the tables.

But things began to unravel in 2014 after Gisèle Masson died and her sons Charles and Philippe, who always had a strained relationship, feuded even more over control and money. Charles Masson exited after his mother left the restaurant to Philippe. Their battle even ended up in court.

The pandemic hit Grenouille hard, and after it reopened it only served dinner, not lunch. Many of the old patrons never returned after Charles left, while Philippe over the last few years has turned Grenouille into as much of a cabaret spot as a restaurant — with him singing. One of Grenouille’s longest patrons, the late Countess Louise J. Esterhazy, would have raised an appalled eyebrow and written one of her scathing columns.

There are no longer Ladies Who Lunch — they are now Ladies Who Work, either as founders of their own brands or as senior executives at major companies in fashion, beauty, finance, tech and more. They don’t have time for long lunches to catch up on the latest society gossip or discuss the next charity gala.

The women who were chic because they bought their own clothes have been succeeded by influencers who are paid to wear them, or by celebrities with stylists who are both paid by brands.

If anything, La Grenouille lived longer than it should have, its core clientele having, in many cases, disappeared years ago and a new generation preferring trendier, flashier — and noisier — spots where selfies are encouraged. But no one who ever sat in Grenouille’s lushly hushed room over a perfectly roast chicken or grilled Dover sole and crisp glass of Sancerre will ever forget the feeling of having spent at least a few hours in paradise.